


Six Hours to Midnight

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinderella remix, Disguise, F/M, Lemons, Smut, Smut and Fluff, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: With little else planned for the most romantic day of the year, Hermione Granger is begrudgingly dragged to the Greengrass Valentine Masquerade. But as she assumes her new persona, she can't help but run into Draco Malfoy again and again...and again.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 55
Kudos: 607
Collections: Strictly Dramione Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange Fest





	Six Hours to Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaBelladoneX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelladoneX/gifts).



**A/N: This piece was written for Strictly Dramione’s Valentine Exchange as a gift for LaBelladoneX! Her prompt words gave me quite the doozy!! They were: Love, Despair, Horror, Demise. And somehow, I’ve gotten Cinderella fluff from all that. Haha! Hope you enjoy, darling.**

****

**February 14** **th** **, 2001**

**5:45 pm**

“It’s lovely, Gin. Truly. I just don’t—” 

“Stop right there. _It’s supposed to be fun._ ” Ginny adjusted her dress, bringing the nail of her pinky finger up to edge the lipstick at the side of her mouth as she appraised herself in Hermione’s mirror. “I know you’re happy to sit in on Valentine’s Day loaded up with your self-pitying despair and watching horror movies on your Muggle telly, but _not tonight._ ” 

Eyes narrowing, Hermione rolled her head in her friend’s direction. “First of all, that’s not what I was going to be watching—” 

“I already saw the box on your end table,” Ginny said flippantly, drawing her long red hair off her exposed shoulders before glaring at Hermione in the reflection of the mirror. “ _Sweetheart Massacre? Really_?”

A bristle of annoyance chased down her spine, and she sat primly on the edge of her bed with a huff. “It’s not horror, alright? It’s a documentary on this serial killer and details his entire demise—” 

“Oh, Rowena’s rack, Hermione! You. Are. Going. I’m not letting you sit here drowning yourself in chocolate frogs and serial killer movies.” Turning sharply, Ginny’s eyes narrowed into slits and she pointed at the long black dress laying on her bed. “ _Change_ ! You’ve got five minutes or I’ll drag your adorable arse out of the house in _that.”_ Her lip curled as she took in Hermione’s denims and loose-fitting tee, and Hermione couldn’t help but glower back. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“Quite possible.” Ginny grinned, retreating through the door. “But insufferable might just get you laid, so pep up!” 

With an exaggerated sigh, Hermione lifted the thin material into her lap and shrugged. Surely she could last a few hours for Ginny’s sake. 

**6:02 pm**

After she’d dressed, Hermione grabbed her enchanted clutch and stuffed some lipstick and her wand inside. She made to leave, but her eyes caught on the book she’d been tearing through on her end table, staring right at her. Pulling a face, she trotted back for it, letting it disappear inside her clutch’s shadows before she turned for the door. Slipping from her room, her lips drew into an embarrassed frown. “I feel like an idiot,” she grumbled, shifting her feet back and forth. 

Ginny turned, jaw falling open and a surprised huff passing her lips. “You look fit, Hermione. Truly.” 

A furious blush bloomed on her cheeks and Hermione shrugged, already having relinquished her control for the evening. “So where are we going tonight?” 

At that, Ginny’s smirk spread to a grin and she offered Hermione a lacy black masquerade mask. “The Greengrass girls are hosting an event: Lonely Hearts Masquerade. We’re going.” 

Flinching, Hermione bared her teeth and quickly shook her head. “That sounds like a really horrible idea. Can’t we just go out for drinks or something? We’ll stick out like a Blast-Ended Skrewt in a pumpkin patch.” 

Something sparkled in Ginny’s eyes and she lifted her wand, pointing to her own head. _“Mutatio capillus.”_ Ginny’s long red hair transformed to an ashy blonde. Then she turned her wand on Hermione, casting again. Her thick curls began to soften, soon falling completely flat and hanging almost to the bottom of her back. With a soft gasp, Hermione began dragging her fingers through her now sugar-fine hair, draping it over her shoulder and inspecting it closely. 

“Why haven’t you taught me that spell?” 

“It’s new; twins are messing with some products and I happened to hear about this one and took it upon myself. Problem is, to get around the nasty modification laws, it only lasts for the day it was cast. So we have until midnight and then it’ll turn back. Make sure you find me so I can recast. Got it?”

With a snort, Hermione grabbed the mask and stuck it to her face with a sticking charm. “Home by midnight? You don’t have to tell me twice.” 

**7:48 pm**

The party was nothing short of extravagant… and _fragrant._

It smelled as though the entire room had been doused in perfume and love potion; it was nauseating. The champagne was pink, the table cloths were pink, the strands of chiffon hanging from the ceiling were pink. And the two Greengrass girls were, unsurprisingly, in pink. 

Despite the vomit-inducing hues of the evening—and the smell—the rest of it wasn’t half bad. There was a staggering amount of people, each one adorned with a mask and dressed in their finest. The band was one of her favourites and the tray service was delicious. 

However, somewhere along the way a man had stolen Ginny’s attention, and Hermione, being the dutiful sidekick she was, remained planted at their side. He was tall with rich-toned skin and full lips constantly pulled into a smirk, and while she was almost positive it was Blaise Zabini, her assumptions were solidified when his cohort appeared, sporting a plain black mask and a shock of platinum blond hair. 

In the handful of years since school had ended, their lives had all changed; Draco Malfoy hadn’t. He was always hard to miss, his face constantly plastered over _Witch Weekly_ and _The Daily Prophet_ , heralding his status as Wizarding London’s most eligible bachelor and heir to the Malfoy fortune. 

Saying that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy weren’t close at Hogwarts was the understatement of the century. During their earlier years, he was a downright bully. As they got older, he moved to casual indifference and some passing snark, but mostly he barely deigned to acknowledge her existence. In their eighth year, though, there were a few times that she thought… _maybe._

Not that they had anything in common—not really. But sometimes his gaze would catch on her in the library or in the Great Hall, and then he’d gone and made that ridiculous apology to her on her birthday. From then on, things had been amenable, almost… friendly. 

There’d been a single night during Astronomy when he’d moved closer to her and his eyes had traced her lips in the darkness… but then _nothing._

School ended and he went back to his life, his nose stuck in the air like that fancy little surname actually meant he was bloody royalty. Quite clearly, Draco Malfoy was nothing like the boy she’d come to fancy three years ago. 

“How on earth did you drag me here Zabini?” Malfoy drawled, his lips hovering over the rim of his champagne flute. Hermione snorted, sipping demurely from her own as she studied the room. “Oh,” he noted, “you have company.” 

She swore his lip curled before he extended his palm to Ginny, still donning her platinum hair. “Draco Malfoy, how do you do?” 

Ginny pulled a face, shaking his hand. “Molly. Pleasure.” 

Malfoy turned to Hermione, his pale brow arched over his mask, and he extended his hand towards her. She couldn’t help but stare at the gesture, finally jumping to action and gripping his hand. “Hello.” 

“And your name is?” The soft grey of his eyes flashed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around hers. 

“Oh! Right, it’s—” All thoughts withered and died as her lips tried to make sense of the simple question. 

_“Yes?”_ Malfoy edged, his lips quirking into an amused smirk as Ginny coughed into her hand, her eyes bulging behind her mask. 

Hermione… daughter of… “Helen— _a._ I’m Helena.” 

His thumb traced over the back of her hand and she gulped, feeling all at once out of breath. Ginny rolled her eyes, returning her attention to Blaise, draping her slender fingers over his forearm and turning her back on her friend. 

Malfoy seemed to take advantage of the opening, stepping to Hermione’s side and procuring two new fresh flutes of champagne. “Do I know you? You seem… _familiar._ ”

“I thought the point of the night was anonymity?” She said, averting her eyes to the people gathered around the room. 

A charming trill of masculine laughter filled the air, and she felt a blush crawl up her neck. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “So I take it you’re single then?”

“That’s presumptuous.” Mashing her lips together, she rolled her eyes and craned her neck, hoping to catch Ginny’s attention. 

“Is it?” His brow quirked and he turned towards her, grey eyes burning through his mask. “I mean you’re at a singles event… on Valentine’s Day. Seems likely enough.” 

Seething rage bubbled to the surface, and she snapped. “Is there something you were hoping to accomplish here in particular? I’m trying to enjoy an evening with my friend and if—”

“At a singles event,” he deadpanned. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, and her rage transformed into fury. “On Valentine’s Day… Enjoy your evening, _Helena.”_ Dipping his chin, he bid a quiet farewell to Zabini and disappeared back into the crowd. 

A sad sort of twist tangled in her belly as he departed and she quickly banished it, unsure why it had appeared in the first place. Glancing towards the clock, she noted it was only half nine and she glowered at the remaining time left before she could call it a night. At this point, it was probably wise to give up on actually enjoying the night—unless she might find a quiet corner to take up her book—and instead settle for listening to the verbal foreplay of a blonde Ginny Weasley as she attempted to ensnare her very own Slytherin. 

**8:37 pm**

The loo was rather gaudy; the mirror was framed in rich gold, and pink and red rose petals scattered on every surface. It appeared the Greengrass girls spared no expense. 

After washing her hands, she made it not five steps before a shadowed figure barreled into her, trapping her against the wall with his hands caged on either side of her face. 

Her fingers twitched towards her wand, and she was just about to hex the bloody bollocks from his person when she recognized the familiar head of platinum hair. 

_“Malfoy?”_

“Hello there,” he grinned, shifting his body strategically and stepping into her. 

Her heart leapt to action in her chest. “Is there a reason you’re—” Words failed her. “Well, you’re doing _this?”_

“Dumb luck really. I was escaping one of those awful twits—I think it was Astoria this time, though they both give me quite the headache—and found you. Would you mind helping me out?” A lopsided smile worked its way onto his lips, the same ones that hovered mere inches from hers, and she sucked in a stuttered breath. 

It wasn’t so much that she fancied the bloke, he was just so incredibly _close._ Too close. “What on earth could I possibly help you with?” 

“Is there a blonde witch down the hall?” His hand drifted to the curve of her waist, tugging her slightly forward until her hips were pressed into his and she couldn’t _breathe._

Rolling her head to the side, she spotted a small cluster of people near the mouth of the hall; a blonde, in particular, craning her neck to study the two people shrouded in shadows. 

“Yes.” The word was a breath, barely audible, as she turned back to the man still holding her captive, though for some reason, she didn’t seem to mind. 

His grey eyes travelled south, her skin flushing under his attention as he lingered on the curve of her breasts. “Is she starting to walk this way?” 

Another glance down the hall. “Mmm-hmm.” 

Dipping closer, lips almost touching hers, he suddenly redirected, burying his head in the slope of her shoulder as the hand at her waist moved to band around her. A low gasp was pulled from her lungs at the sudden heat of his touch and without thought, her fingers wound into his lapel and pulled him closer. Sweet Merlin _,_ she was pressing against Draco Malfoy, the light stubble on his chin tickling her shoulder as he ghosted a breath down her neck. 

A bright peal of laughter slipped from her lips, and she pressed her cheek to his, pushing him away as he pulled her closer still. Rolling her head to the side, she noted that Astoria Greengrass had left. 

Realisation crashed into her. Clearing her throat, she gently guided him away. “Your stalker has left.” 

A heavy huff worked its way up from deep in her belly and she fussed with her dress. For all intents and purposes, she had just been all over Draco Malfoy. Or rather, Draco Malfoy had been all over her. 

His brilliantly white teeth shone in the dim light of the hall, and he straightened his own robes. “Guess I owe you one, _Helena.”_ Reaching up he muttered, “ _Finite,”_ and pulled his mask free. 

She’d been utterly unprepared to have him unmasked and so close to her. In the years that had passed, Malfoy had remained far, _far_ away; it was easier to forget that he was devastatingly handsome. Memories of him being a complete and utter prat were quick to spring to the front of her mind when he was distant, but now? Now she couldn’t remember a single thing he’d ever done other than the way he felt pressed against her and how his laugh sounded when it was just for her. 

“I should get back to my friend.” Hermione ducked her chin and made to step around him, but quicker than she thought possible, his hand shot out, wrapping around her elbow. 

“Are you sure I don’t know you? I can’t help but feel like…” 

“Goodnight, Malfoy.” 

  
  


**10:43 pm**

“Gin… _GINNY!”_ Hermione was met with nothing other than an obnoxious, girlish giggle as Blaise pressed a kiss to Ginny’s shoulder. “Merlin, this can’t be bloody happening.” 

Whipping her blonde hair over her shoulder, Ginny’s eyes danced behind her mask. “We’re going to dance. You’ll be all right for a few minutes on your own, right?” 

“Well, actually—” The rest of the words were for naught as Ginny glided to the dance floor in Blaise’s arms. Glowering, Hermione reached elbow deep into her bag, feeling around for her book. Just as her fingers brushed the spine, a shadow fell over her. Peering up, she winced at the pink fog and vibrant lights, barely making out a man she didn’t immediately recognize. 

“Interest you in a dance?” _Oh no._ She knew that voice, even with his face covered in an elaborate mask. _McLaggen._ Her lip curled.

“Oh, you know, I really don’t dance.” 

His grin turned Cheshire, and he fell into the seat next to her, one arm draping over the back of her chair. Frowning, she straightened her spine and shifted just a breath further from her newest annoyance. 

“I’m Cormac Mclaggen.” He said it boastfully, as if the name alone were something to be proud of, and she choked on the saliva that slammed into the back of her throat as she swallowed a laugh. “And you are?” 

Lips mashing into a flat line, she made a disgruntled little noise before responding. “Helena.” 

“Helena,” he crooned, brows rising as he attempted to lead her into the reveal of her surname. 

Merlin, she forgot how the sheer proximity of Cormac McLaggen could rile her into seething anger. “Just Helena,” she managed through a clenched jaw.

Warm fingertips brushed her bare shoulder and just as she about to slap the man at her side for the audacity, she realized they weren’t _his_ fingers. 

“Beat it McLaggen. Can’t you tell when a witch would rather have herself flayed than spend another moment in your company?” Malfoy appeared, extending his palm to her, and she found herself with quite the dilemma: stay, and endure the revolting company of one Cormac McLaggen, or join Malfoy for a dance. Choosing the lesser of the two horrendous evils, she placed her fingers in Malfoy’s waiting hand and rose to stand. 

In a few long strides, they were on the dance floor, swirling in a foggy hue of bubblegum and nearly choking on the overwhelming scent of the air in general. 

Narrowing her glare, she allowed herself to be pulled into his arms, only momentarily distracted by the feel of him against her once more. “You know that doesn’t count.” 

He hummed, eyes dancing over her face. 

“You said you owed me for letting you breathe all over me like that earlier. Saving me from that git doesn’t count.” 

His hand splayed across her lower back, fingertips brushing the line of knickers. “Fine. What do you want?” His teeth caught his lip. 

“You’re horrible.” Hermione ought to blush, ought to leave and go home, peel this dress off and count Valentine’s Day as yet another wash. But she wasn’t Hermione anymore—she was Helena. And Helena was quite taken with what a fetching dancer Malfoy was, twirling her easily around the dance floor, their bodies flush against each other as easy music lilted through the air. 

“I’m not sure yet,” she said fighting a smile. “I’ll have to think about it.” Over her shoulder, she spied the two Greengrass girls, bedazzled in shades of magenta and raspberry topped off with hot pink masks. Choking on a laugh, Hermione rested her forehead on his shoulder before peeking back up at him. “Your girlfriends don’t look pleased that you’re dancing with me.” 

Over his mask, his brow wrinkled, and he followed her gaze. Growling, he spun her so his back was to them. “They’re tenacious, I’ll give them that.” 

Hermione again looked over his shoulder, rising up on her toes to see them more clearly. They’d always been beautiful; even at Hogwarts they were quite untouchable. If Pansy Parkinson was the school broom, those two were the snitch. 

“I’m surprised you’re not more interested in them. They’re quite lovely…” A strange pang of jealousy formed, and she winced away from its existence, instead focusing on the feeling of Malfoy’s hair sliding through her fingers as they swayed back and forth. 

He scoffed. “They’re vapid.” After making a non-committal little noise, she tore her gaze from the seething sisters. “They’ve been after my surname since before we started school together. Well, maybe not so much my surname—that’s been tarnished a bit over the years—but they’ve certainly been after the Gringotts vault and the Manor that come along with it.” 

“I’m surprised that’s not what you’re after,” she confessed, the words tasting like vinegar on her tongue. “Some pretty witch who wants to sit at your side while you rule your kingdom.” 

The grey of his eyes softened, turning from steel to storm cloud, and she felt her heart soften with them. “No, that’s not what I want. It might be what my father wants, maybe even my mother—but not me. It might have taken me a little longer than I’d like to realize it, but it’s true. I suppose if you only saw me during my time at Hogwarts, that’s a reasonable assumption.” 

“Well, you _were_ quite the git.” A laugh chased her words and a grin spread over his lips. She blanched at the sight. _“What?”_

“So you went to Hogwarts? I must’ve known you, then. I swear you remind me of this girl…” 

The music faded away and all she could hear was the slamming of her own heart against her ribcage. “I didn’t mean… I only meant—” Visions of their time together flooded her memory and the magic of the moment burst. She needed to get away. 

Stepping from his embrace, she rushed from the dance floor, hands waving wildly to rid herself of the perfume hanging low in the air as stumbled into the fresh air on the terrace. Sucking in wild breaths, she made her way to the railing and hunched over it, desperate to rip her mask off but knowing that she couldn’t. _Then he’d know._

_“Helena!”_

Whipping around, she continued to brace herself on the railing at her back, unwelcome tears gathering behind her mask. “Why are you following me? I don’t understand why it is that you even care. There are dozens upon dozens of witches here who would gladly spend the night on your arm, so why are you perpetually pestering me?” 

She couldn’t figure out why she was so affected. Maybe because she almost liked his company, when he wasn’t sneering and calling her Mudblood or laughing at her expense. But then, did it really matter if she enjoyed his company? If he knew who she was without this sleek hair and pretty mask, he’d revert to the radio silence from the last three years. 

A disbelieving breath pushed past his lips, and he took a tentative step towards her las if she were a wounded animal he was scared of spooking. “I honestly don’t know why I can’t leave you alone. Trust me I’ve tried. Despite being one-hundred percent positive you gave me a fake name _and_ have been withholding the truth from me for the entire night, I still can’t help it.” 

“You’re beginning to sound like Trewlaney,” she grumbled, her icy exterior melting infinitesimally as he took another step towards her. 

“You didn’t trust her hokey bullshite either?” His smirk returned just as he stopped in front of her, eyes roving her face for the countless time. “I always thought she was mad.” Reaching out, he pinched a lock of hair, letting it slide beneath his fingers before tucking it behind her ear.

A war raged inside her—Hermione or Helena. Swallowing the fear climbing up her throat, she reached out for him, pulling him close. “I’ve thought about what I wanted. You know, since you owe me.” 

Lips pulling into a crooked grin, his fingers threaded through the fine hair at the back of her neck. “Yeah?” 

“I don’t want you to ask me who I am again for the rest of the night.” His eyes tightened, barely visible behind his simple black mask, but still, he acquiesced with a nod. “And I’d like you to kiss me.” 

The words were barely past her lips when his mouth settled over hers, firm and intent, his body curving to accommodate her height. A low moan started in the back of her throat and as her lips parted, he swallowed it, tongue darting out to brush against hers. What had started so tenderly transformed, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of her waist and curling in her hair. 

She touched every inch of him she could reach, hands sliding under his jacket and tracing the lines of his torso she could feel through his shirt. Flames licked at her skin, heating her from the inside out until she felt she might burst. He trailed his kisses from her lips to her jaw, then finally down the long column of her throat, and she felt the last bit of resolve she’d been holding onto wither and die. 

“Do you want to find a room?” she breathed, fingers curling in the fine strands of his hair. 

He stilled, every exploratory touch halting as he pulled back, gulping. “We can just get out of here…” 

Shaking her head, she thought of the horrible scenarios of her having to remove her mask or taking him to her quiet little flat with Crookshanks passing judgment on the entire affair. And she couldn’t go to his. Her lies lived and died at Greengrass Hall. 

“No.” Desire colored her cheeks as she panted. 

A moment passed, his fingers tightening around her hips before he finally nodded. Fingers threading through hers, he led her back to the party and down the hall. 

**11:26 pm**

“I’m gonna need you to tell me what it is you want here...” He trailed off with his lips against her throat, pulling her backwards into an unknown room. 

A low moan filled the room as her eyes caught on a small clock on the bookshelf. Half an hour until midnight.

_“Fuck me.”_ She’d blush at her brazen words, but she wasn’t Hermione. She was Helena, and Helena had no qualms about being roughly shagged in someone else’s study by Draco Malfoy. Fumbling through her bag, she ripped her wand free and cast a few protective charms between them before dropping her bag to the floor.

She could feel his teeth against her skin as his hands slid freely over the expensive material of her gown, gathering it over her arse and guiding her towards the desk in the centre of the room, and her wand fell from her fingers. His hands found the modest slit and the resounding rip echoed in the quiet room, earning a quiet gasp from her. 

Hands sliding beneath the fabric, he filled his palms with the thick flesh of her arse, lifting her easily so she was sitting on the edge of the desk and settling between her thighs. With about as much finesse as she could muster, she ripped his belt loose, quite possibly ruining the button on his trousers as she helped shimmy them down enough to free his cock. 

She arched into him as he settled between her thighs, and he pushed the straps of her dress from her shoulders, baring her from the waist up. He pulled back, cursing under his breath and then ripping the mask from his face. The heat that had begun on the balcony flared, turning to fiendfyre under her skin as his hands slid over her bare body, massaging her breasts. He paused only to lightly pinch her nipples, rolling them between his fingers before leaning down to capture one between his lips.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, knees hitching higher over his hips. “Draco, please.” He paused, eyes snapping up to hers for a splinter of a second before reanimating. 

The hand massaging her breast fell away, finding his cock and pumping it once, twice, three times too many. She shimmied and groaned, her eyes again catching on the clock. Fifteen minutes till midnight. 

His lips trailed back up to hers, slanting over her mouth as he positioned his tip at her entrance, sliding easily through her silken folds. Just as his tongue pressed against hers, his hips snapped, filling her in one fluid motion. She clung to him, nearly clawing at him for _more._

Their bodies stayed flush, his hands digging into her hips as he drove into her. Again and again, their mouths collided in messy kisses, broken only by the hard snap of his hips as he thrust relentlessly into her. With a hard tug, she was dragged even further, her bum nearly hanging off the edge of the desk as he rolled his hips and brushed a spot so deep inside her she wasn’t sure it even existed until this moment. 

The knot that had been winding tighter and tighter deep in her belly snapped free, pleasure coursing through her limbs and buzzing over her skin as she fell apart around him. Low grunts rumbled from his chest as he drove harder, his hips stilling moments later as he chased his own release. 

The moment quieted, their chests bumping as they sought their breath, and when she let her head drift back, a particularly buoyant curl was in her field of vision. Panic clamoured over her skin, and she felt another sprig of hair wind and bounce against her cheek. 

“I have to go,” she hissed, pushing him from between her thighs. “ _Accio wand_ .” At some point, it must have rolled off the desk, and it flew into her waiting palm from the shadows of the floor. Scrambling, she righted her dress, yanking up her straps and cursing the new provocative slit she was sporting. “Where’s my bag?” she hissed. “ _Oh, bugger it.”_

“Wait!” Malfoy’s voice was husky, hastily buttoning his trousers before reaching for her. 

Another curl and she nearly groaned as she tore from the room, sprinting towards the Floo in the foyer. She could hear the sharp slap of dragon leather shoes behind her but it didn’t slow her, instead, it drove her further— _faster._

Snatching a handful of Floo powder, she stumbled into the grate, calling for her flat just as Malfoy appeared around the corner with her bag in hand. 

  
  


**12:04 am**

Falling through her grate, she collapsed to her knees, the strap of her dress slipping over her shoulder yet again. For a reason she couldn’t fathom—nor did she want to—hot tears slipped over her cheeks, and she felt a fissure in her heart. 

**February 17** **th** **, 2001**

**10:12 am**

The weekend was spent wallowing— _moping—_ and mourning the loss of something that truly had never been hers; it had always been Helena’s anyway. 

Monday morning found her at her desk in the DLME, staring at a report that Robards wanted by the end of the day and not being able to bring herself to the point of caring. A tired sigh wiggled free from her chest, and she shoved the parchment aside, bringing her hand up to cradle her chin as she dozed off. 

Flesh memories of Friday night lingered on her skin, and regardless if Draco Malfoy was a prat now or then or some combination of both, she’d enjoyed his company. And no one was more annoyed by that fact than her. 

Her daydreams got the best of her, and it wasn’t until Robards was standing in front of her desk, a deep-set scowl marring his already unpleasant features, that she was dragged back to the present.

“Granger! What on earth are you doing?” 

Clearing her throat, she began mindlessly shuffling through the items on her desk in a vain attempt to appear busy. “Sorry, sir. Just… getting focused…” Her eyes bulged as the lie slid through her teeth; it was so poorly constructed not even she believed it. 

With a grunt, he dropped a new scroll on her desk. “Someone needs to file a missing person’s. I _assume_ you can make time in your busy schedule?”

“Of course, sir. Where is—” She stood, ready to find the person in question when her eyes caught on Draco Malfoy just steps behind her director. “Um… Malfoy?”

“Mr. Malfoy is filing the report. _Be nice,”_ Robards warned before disappearing back into the bullpen. 

With a soft clearing of her throat, she held her hand out to Malfoy, but then she realized she couldn’t bear the thought of touching him so she snapped it back into her possession. Fuck, she was acting insane. All of her features pinched as she dragged her curls off her shoulders, gesturing for him to sit. 

“Malfoy,” she said with a stiff nod. “How can I help you?” 

Outside she was composed— _professional_ . Inside her heart was threatening to escape through the cracks of her ribs, and she couldn’t bloody _breathe._

Taking his seat, he slipped the button of his robes free and leaned back in the chair, looking completely at ease. “I’m looking for someone.” 

“Oh?” Her mouth ran dry, and she yanked open her desk drawer for the proper parchment, laying it flat before her before taking her quill with a trembling hand. “Can you describe her—” The pronoun slipped and her eyes shot up to his, rounding in horror before quickly correcting, “ _them_. Can you describe them? And their name, let’s start there.” 

“Helena.” 

It felt like a chocolate frog was bouncing in her throat, and she sputtered out a choked cough before shaking her head and gathering her wits. “Surname?”

“I don’t know.” 

“And when did she go missing?” 

“Saturday after a party.” As she scrawled out the notes she realized that Draco Malfoy was being a complete and utter prat. If Helena _did_ exist then it certainly wasn’t appropriate to file a missing person’s report over the fact that she’d slipped out. But she couldn’t exactly say that, so gritting her teeth, she continued on.

“Okay, what information can you give me?” 

“She’s really quite awful.” Anger boiled her blood. “She was condescending and secretive— _a liar._ Not to mention, she was all over me.” 

A sharp inhale filled her lungs as she snapped her head up. _“Excuse me?”_

“Honestly, I’ve considered filing an assault report with the way witch cornered me and practically begged me to shag her.” 

Her teeth slammed shut and she narrowed her gaze. “I _obviously_ am not going to write that she was a liar and condescending on an official Ministry report, Malfoy. So if that’s all you have…” 

“She was beautiful though and more enchanting than I remembered. Funny, too—kind of. A decent dancer, amazing breasts—” 

_“Agh!”_ Hermione slammed her quill down and jumped to her feet. “Malfoy! You can’t just talk like that! I’m…” That amused twinkle returned to his eyes, and he quietly folded his hands over his flat stomach as he stared back at her. “I’m not writing this report. It’s completely unprofessional, and I’m quite sure it’s untrue. If you can’t find a date, that’s your problem. Not the problem of the Ministry of Magic or the DLME.” 

That damned smirk returned, and he slowly rose to stand. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out a small black beaded clutch and laid it between them on her desk. 

“You forgot this.” 

His words crashed over, stealing her breath as the edges of her world turned hazy. “I—” 

“I get it, Granger,” he said, suddenly serious as he stared at the bag. “I understand if you don’t want anything more to do with me, and I even get why you wouldn’t want me to know it was you. And for what it’s worth, I know what your reasons are valid. I’ve been an utter prick and don’t deserve another morsel of your time. But—” His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he shifted, unable or unwilling to look up at her. “I meant what I said. It took me a while to shed the ideals I’d been raised with, but I have. I don’t want any of it.” Finally, he looked up, and she felt that prickle behind her eyes as his gaze softened and a shy smirk returned. “If it was a one-off, okay. But if you didn’t want it to be… Then I’d love to take you to dinner.” 

She couldn’t speak. The brilliant vocabulary she boasted and the words that had been her constant companion since she was old enough to talk failed her, and she felt powerless as he turned and walked away. 

A moment later he was out the door, and the frantic organ in her chest lurched, begging her to bloody follow him. Without further thought, she snatched up her bag and tore through the department, skidding to a stop just feet from the lift. Malfoy shifted in behind a bald man with a friendly smile who was holding the grate. 

There was a sadness she didn’t anticipate etched into his features, and he mumbled the floor he was looking for. Just as the grate began to slide shut she called out for him. _“MALFOY!”_ His head shot up, hope flooding his features as his hand reached for the grate, pausing it from closing. “How’d you know it was me?” 

His lips twitched, and a quiet chuckle shook his body. “I knew it was you and that damned she-weasel from the moment I laid eyes on you. But the book in your bag would have been damning evidence even if I hadn’t. Honestly, Granger, who brings books to a party?” 

A laugh stole away any nerves she was still clinging to as she stomped onto the lift, fingers wrapping around the back of his neck and dragging his mouth to hers. At first, her lips were pressing against his teeth as he grinned and wound his eyes arms around her waist, but soon enough he was kissing her back, pressing again and again until finally the bloke with the friendly face muttered his apologies and said something about taking the stairs. 

Breaking the kiss, Malfoy reached behind her, slamming the grate shut and sending the lift into motion. Then he was on her again, guiding her back so he could press his entire body against her. “So, dinner then?” His lips latched onto the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she keened. 

“Dinner. Tonight?” 

“Can’t wait, Granger. And by the way, Helena is the stupidest fucking—” Her lips caught his, swallowing his prat-ish sentiments as the lift rose. The way she saw it, they still had about forty-five seconds left of snogging, and she’d rather not waste it on him being a git. 

**xXx**

**A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day to LaBelladoneX! I hope you enjoyed this silly little story as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**And to you lovelies reading it, THANK YOU! I can’t tell you how much your kudos, hits, and reviews mean to me and although I’m utter trash at responding, please know that I read each and every one.**

**Alpha and beta credit to the lovely MCal and NuclearNik, respectively. Thank you my dear ones!**

  
  
  



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